


Lay to Rest

by CatS81



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatS81/pseuds/CatS81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a Christmas party, Carolyn gives a newly coupled-up Martin and Arthur some privacy...and she and Douglas have a heart-to-heart as he begins to recall Christmasses past....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Cabin Pressure' and its characters belong to John Finnemore. I'm just borrowing them for a while ;)
> 
> Heartfelt thanks, as always, to Linguini for the beta.
> 
> So, my intention for this fic was just for some light and fluffy Christmas nonsense...but it kinda took on a life of its own! I hope it works - thank you so much for reading! x

Carolyn shook her head in fond bemusement, snagging the sprig of mistletoe from the back of the garden bench before taking a seat. She tossed it onto the low table and sat back, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. The night was quietly serene, the black sky awash with stars, the air crisp and bitter. She watched an aeroplane blink its way across the heavens as she took a large draw from her wine, and was unable to prevent a smile. The evening had been Arthur’s idea, a Christmas party where the guest list had increased with each passing day in the planning – but in truth she had enjoyed having a house full of people for a few hours. Of course, she could have predicted that it would end up being the four of them left at the end, and her smile widened as she thought back over the previous hour.

It had been a relief when Arthur and Martin had finally come clean about their burgeoning relationship; they had been tiptoeing at the edges for months, and Carolyn had felt her heart sing at her only child’s obvious joy when they had confessed. Martin’s initial nervousness had gradually given way to a tentative ease, as he had seemed to realise that she cared not a jot for orientation so long as her son was happy. Arthur, on the other hand, was typically effusive and tactile, leaving no-one in any doubt as to his feelings for the pilot, as the current evening had demonstrated….

_….“Arthur, really? Your mum’s here!”_

_Martin’s protest was half-hearted, speech slurred with alcohol, his objection turning into a soft sigh as his partner nuzzled his neck._

_“Oh, Skip, it’s **mistletoe**!” Arthur protested, stroking the captain’s cheek and bringing their mouths gently, briefly together. “You can’t **not** kiss under mistletoe; it’s the law!”_

_“Yes; I’m not **entirely** sure that’s the case, Arthur,” Douglas drawled from his relaxed position on the sofa across the room, skin aglow in the flickering firelight._

_“Well, if it’s not then it should be,” the younger man continued with a smile, his attention focused on Martin as he pulled him in for another kiss…._

Carolyn had rolled her eyes in good-natured acceptance, aware that the new couple were beginning to lose themselves in each other, Martin’s tiny whimper signalling that she should leave them be. She had shared a look of solidarity with Douglas, sensing that he was also making to stand, before scooping up her coat and heading for the patio doors.

Now, despite the relentless cold, she felt a curious contentment filter through her. Arthur was seemingly happy and settled, her business was doing as well as it ever had, and – her own lack of personal life aside – she had a tentative optimism about the coming new year. She brought her glass to her lips once more, enjoying the warmth spreading across her chest, the slight haze to her vision.

Behind her she heard the patio door slide open and then closed, familiar footsteps approaching across the decking. She startled a fraction as he reached down to pass her a blanket, the soft fleece warming her skin instantly, gratitude filling her at his thoughtfulness. 

“Well,” Douglas announced as he set the tray down and took a seat beside her. “I think the living room is best avoided for the foreseeable future. And quite possibly every other room in your house.”

Carolyn gave a loud groan. “For goodness sake….”

He chuckled, stretching to hand her a steaming mug. “And there’s me thinking you’re the very embodiment of tolerance and….”

“Don’t try and get a rise out of me, you idiot. It would make no difference if he was in there with a woman.”

“Best not to think about it either way.”

“Well, indeed.”

“In particular about the potential damage being inflicted on your soft furnishings from a pair of over-enthusiastic….”

“Enough.” She tried for a glare though his obvious glee was amusing, and she relinquished her wine in favour of the tea, wrapping her hands about the ceramic. “I’m glad for them.”

“You just don’t need to see it?”

“An unnecessary question if ever I heard one. How would you feel if it was one of your daughters?”

Douglas huffed out a breath in a plume of white. “Any man who….”

“Or _woman_ , Douglas. Let’s not make assumptions.”

“Heaven forfend.”

“So there you are.” They lapsed into a brief silence, sipping from their respective mugs, and Carolyn pulled the blanket closer.

“Did you know?” he asked after a moment, dark eyes searching hers in the soft glow of the garden lights. 

“Know what?”

“That Arthur likes men.”

She shrugged, the throw slipping from her shoulder. The sensation of him reaching to casually restore it was a pleasant one though she made herself bat his hand away. “It’s about the _person_ for Arthur. Gender doesn’t come into it; never has done.”

“Ah.”

“And the way he’s always been around Martin….”

“Well, he adores him; clearly.”

“Hm. I just hope the feeling’s mutual.”

Douglas’ lips curved in a teasing grin. “Looked pretty mutual from where I was sitting.”

Carolyn tutted and flicked out her free hand to catch his thigh in reproach. “Hilarious.”

“Is this where you launch into your Mother Bear thing?”

She gave him a wicked grin. “I rather think I might prefer lioness….”

“Either which way, if he hurts your cub you’ll rip him to shreds?”

“The tiniest shreds imaginable. With the very sharpest of claws.”

“Of course.” He gave a throaty chuckle and shook his head. “I don’t think I’d expect anything less.”

“Naturally.”

“It’s _almost_ enough to make me feel sorry for him.”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. For all our sakes.”

“Indeed.” He paused for a moment before gesturing towards the chiminea that rested several feet away. “Shall I get that going?”

She snorted in disdain, though the idea was appealing. “If you think you have the requisite skill.”

“There’s nothing I can’t turn my hand to; you of all people should….”

“Oh, do your worst, then, you insufferable pillock. All the stuff’s in the shed.”

He rose to his feet and disappeared into the outbuilding, reappearing a few minutes later and setting himself to his task. She allowed herself to watch him unguarded whilst his attention was elsewhere, drinking in the broad planes of his back and shoulders as he crouched. It irritated her that she still found him as attractive as when they had first met two decades ago, a fact she had tried vehemently to deny. It was rare she permitted the luxury of acknowledging it at all - her default position being to dampen down the spark whenever it dared to flicker – but the wine was rich in her bloodstream, the festive atmosphere making her defences sluggish, and tracing the lines of his frame enthralled her in something more primitive entirely. He was oblivious to her scrutiny, velvet bass-baritone beginning to hum a tune as he worked, and she supressed a sigh, his voice reverberating through her skin. She was quiet as he continued to sing, content to listen to his unselfconscious display of talent, the spreading warmth in no way due to her blanket. _Oh for goodness sake, pull yourself together_ , she berated, taking a fortifying gulp of tea. _There’s a reason why you don’t ordinarily indulge this nonsense, old girl. It’s an utter bloody minefield…._

Her mask fell back into place with practised ease as he straightened and came back to join her, settling with a triumphant thud as the fire began to glow happily in its terracotta housing.

“Eh voila,” he announced with a gesture towards the flames as he sat back against the bench.

“Oh, very good. Next you’ll be telling me you’ve applied for the position of Chief Scout.”

He smirked. “I was never a Scout, Carolyn. Just naturally gifted.”

“Hm.”

“In matters both intellectual _and_ practical.”

“Of course you are. Remind me again what happened to the medical degree?”

“Ah, but being intellectual is entirely different from being willing to jump through academic hoops.”

“They were beneath you?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I just didn’t particularly see the point.”

She tutted her disapproval. “Well, anything else aside and without in any way bowing to your ridiculous ego….”

“Naturally.”

“….I suppose I’ll concede that you _can_ in fact make a fire.”

“There we are, then: QED.”

She shook her head, though was content to lapse into silence again, watching the fire crackle and spark, and forcing her mind to be still.

“So, come on, then,” he prompted after a beat. “You were suspiciously quiet after that phone call this morning; am I to assume it’s bad news all round for the Christmas schedule?”

She inclined her head, attention still fixed on the flickering flames. “That rather depends on your point of view.”

“Well, doubtless it’s good from _your_ point of view since you’ll be the one raking in the cash….”

“ _Hardly_.”

“…if you sign us up for some festive flying.” He raised his eyebrows, undeterred. “Which rich half-wit are we flying where this time?”

“Such presumption, Douglas,” she chastened with amusement. “For all you know it could be a trip for under-privileged children to Lapland.”

“But then what would _you_ get out of it?”

“You mean aside from the deep satisfaction that comes from altruistically helping one’s fellow man?”

“Yes: aside from that.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, noting the teasing challenge in his tone, before pulling away with a snort. “Alright, clever pilot: we’re taking a load of accountants on a jolly to Prague; happy?”

He groaned. “Not in the least. Accountants are generally as ghastly as they are dull.”

“Agreed…but when they’re paying double our normal rate, I find their dullness to become somewhat….” She grinned in triumph. “Dulled.”

“And you ordinarily such a wordsmith.” He frowned. “I’m hoping double-rate isn’t synonymous with Christmas Day.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“To be fair, Carolyn, it wouldn’t be the first time that particular national holiday has escaped your notice.”

“It’s Boxing Day. The evening of, to be precise.”

“And are you planning on sharing the wealth with your poor, under-appreciated employees?”

She harrumphed. “‘Poor’ is not my concern….”

“Whereas ‘under-appreciated’ is…?”

“Something you would _not_ be if you consistently did your job without complaining at every turn.”

He barked a laugh. “I’m glad to see you’re full of the joys.”

“Peace and goodwill to all pilots?” She rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea. “Please.”

“Am I to take this to mean no bonuses?”

She looked at him, eyes drilling into his in a scathing glare. “Surely you know me better than that?”

“That’s entirely my worry.”

“Of _course_ you’re going to get a bonus, you clot. So long as it all pans out and the money’s in the bank – buns for tea all round.”

“ _There_ ’s your inner Father Christmas. Who would have thought he’d be so hard to hide?”

She ignored his playful mirth. “So, there we are. There’s no chance I would’ve turned down such a lucrative deal, Christmas or no Christmas.”

He gestured back towards the house. “Have you told Don Juan and Casanova in there?”

“Not yet.”

“And you’re not keen to interrupt them?”

“You’re _such_ a wit.”

“Yes, perhaps leave them a while. They might take the news better after a night of…..”

“Enough.”

“I mean, who _doesn’t_ feel more relaxed and receptive after a lovely release of endorphins?”

“Stop it,” she commanded, eyes narrowing to fierce slits. “One more quip out of you and I’ll….”

“Don’t you find?”

She made herself hold his eye, feeling electricity arc between them in the flickering amber glow. He was clearly amused, dark eyes shining, and she berated herself as her pulse quickened unbidden. He had never seriously tried to charm her in all the years of their association, but their banter had fuelled various passionate nights, the intellectual stimulation becoming mirrored in the physical. She had schooled her mind over the years not to over-analyse, allowing herself to indulge when she felt like it and ignoring their chemistry the rest of the time, enjoying the friction and the repartee with no appreciable agenda.

“Carolyn?”

She blinked out of her reverie as he drawled her name. “What?”  


“I asked you a question.”

“To which you actually expected an answer?”

He flashed a rakish grin. “You’re not telling me it’s been so long you’ve forgotten?”

“And exactly what business would that be of yours?”

“Oh, none whatsoever. Perish the thought.”

She allowed his words to linger before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You’re a pillock.”

“Always on hand with the intellectual riposte.”

“Yes, well….Think yourself lucky I’ve had a glass of wine.”

“Well, of course. I’m always grateful when alcohol dulls the sharp barbs of your tongue.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” she continued unfazed as he chuckled. “As discussed, Christmas Day is your own but I’ll expect you promptly at the airfield on Boxing Day at four; understood?”

“Promptly-ish.”

“You will be there at four, Douglas, if you still wish to find yourself gainfully employed come the New Year.”

“And Christmas plans be damned?”

“Do you actually _have_ any Christmas plans?”

She regretted the flippant question as she watched him flinch, dark eyes awash with melancholia he was quick to blink away. 

“Oh, the usual,” he rallied with a dismissive gesture, though his tone lacked conviction. “Carols on the radio, a sumptuous turkey to enjoy at my leisure….”

“Hm.”

“Who could ask for anything more, as Gershwin so wisely….”

“And rhetorically.”

“…proposed?”

She paused, eyes flickering across his face, noting the tiny frown that marred his forehead, the deepening lines around his mouth. “And your daughters?”

He shrugged, dropping his gaze. “Verity tends to have her own plans. Emily will no doubt be with her mother.”

“Not every year, surely?”

“Well, she’s sixteen. It’s her decision entirely these days.” He inclined his head, and Carolyn felt her heart contract. “And I can hardly blame her.”

“Rubbish.” She exhaled in a sharp, dismissive stream. “She’s a _teenager_ , Douglas. Being fickle and belligerent is par for the course.”

“Oh, I know. But even so.”

“Come _on_ – you must have had some good Christmases with them growing up?”

“Well, naturally. When each of them was very little.” He smiled in apparent wistfulness, and she reached to pour more tea from the pot into their mugs. “I can still distinctly remember Verity’s first one: crawling round like lightning at eight months old and managing to pull the tree on top of herself.”

“Ah; drama queen in the making?”

His laugh was gentle. “Something like that?”

“Was she alright?”

“Oh, perfectly so, once she got over the shock. Her mother and I just gathered her up in a blanket and held her.” He took a sip of tea. “It was quite lovely, actually.”

“Mm.”

“One of those moments where you just want time to stop.” He frowned, his expression darkening. “I can count on one hand the number of times I spent Christmas with her after that.”

“Well, not all of that was of your own making, remember. You tried your best and were thwarted at every turn.”

“I could probably have tried harder.”

“ _Every_ parent could try harder, for pity’s sake; what makes you so special?”

He barked a brief laugh. “This is you trying to make me feel better?”

“You’re wallowing.”

“You asked the question, Carolyn.”

“I asked you about the _good_ times, idiot. Stop deliberately trying to renegotiate the terms.”

“I’m simply being honest. I missed an awful lot with Verity…..”

“Again, not all because of you.” She looked at him, an idea forming at the edges of her consciousness that she battled to keep at bay. “What about Emily?”

“What about her?”

“As a little girl, I mean.”

He shrugged, one broad shoulder rising and falling. “I think perhaps I fared slightly better there, on balance.”

“There you are, then.”

“I mean, at least I was there for her first couple of Nativity plays.” He grinned at the memory, though his eyes remained clouded. “Most notably for a particularly arresting performance as the surliest Mary on record.”

Carolyn chuckled. “I wonder if it could rival Arthur’s most talkative sheep on record.”

“I’d be willing to bet on it.”

“It was charming, actually.” She raised a hand to prevent his response. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I can imagine all of his performances were somewhat…interpretative.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Emily spent the entire play snarling at the poor lad playing Joseph…and then being extremely heavy-handed with the baby Jesus.”

“I’m guessing her teacher was slightly more circumspect with the casting the following year?”

He deflated in an instant and she scolded herself for the folly of her words, wishing she could draw them back in. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Sarah more-or-less banned me from such events after that.”

“ _Banned_ you?”

“Rightly so.” His tone was despondent, smooth baritone flat. “The drinking was starting to get out of control by that point.”

“Ah.”

“So I never could hold it against her that she didn’t want me anywhere near our daughter.”

“You had a _problem_ , Douglas. One your wife doesn’t sound like she was terribly interested in helping you solve.”

“Well, regardless. I missed so much of my children’s lives because of it.” His chest shuddered with a heavy sigh. “Christmas has a tendency to exemplify all of those failings, all of the losses. All the missed opportunities.”

She allowed his words to settle into the stillness, watching the shadows as they flickered and danced across his face. His previous festive good humour had evaporated into the chill of the evening. She hated seeing him so dispirited, so resigned to the hand that life had dealt him with regards to his children. His alcoholism had been an overriding factor in the dissolution of his marriages, of his damaged relationships with his daughters, and it pained her that his recovery had done little to heal the wounds.

“For heaven’s sake…,” she chided with an accompanying eye roll, though the sentiment was mostly self-directed as she moved towards him, plucking the mug from his fingers, one hand straying to the front of his coat.

He raised a questioning eyebrow but she simply tugged him closer and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was firm and decisive, enough pressure to communicate her intention without demanding anything in return, and she retreated after a few seconds to assess him.

Douglas exhaled in bemusement, carding his fingers through his hair. “What on earth was that for?” he asked after a beat, and she clicked her tongue in impatient disapproval.

“Well, I had to do _something_ to stop you from descending into a fog of self-pitying, morose introspection….”

“You’re really are charm itself, aren’t you?”

She sighed, softening in an instant at his tone, and she stretched to touch him again, tracing her thumb across his lips as if to rub the kiss away, gratified when he caught her wrist. “Truthfully?” she murmured, pulse quickening as he stroked his thumb across her skin.

“Of course.”

“I don’t like that look on you. I’ve seen it on far too many occasions, and it’s high time it stopped.”

His voice was quiet, catching in his throat. “Oh, Lyn.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.” He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. “Should I blame the wine?”

“For…?”

“This unusual and uncharacteristic display of sentimentality and forwardness?”

She gave a snort of contempt. “Please.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Douglas, really; just shut up.”

His laugh was warm as she closed the distance between them once more, capturing his mouth with hers. It had been more than five years since they had last been in such a position, time falling away as she re-learned the feel of him, her fingers sliding up to cup his cheek. She allowed him to set the pace, only deepening the kiss when he grunted his encouragement, arousal crackling through her as his tongue met hers. He tasted of spiced apple, of sweet tea, of the rich remnants of mincemeat – an intricate combination of flavour and something else that was uniquely him, and it took all of her reserve not to groan her desire against his mouth. He was responding with fervent enthusiasm, one hand having snuck beneath the blanket to pull her closer, and she smiled, edgy pleasure arching through her body as he traced the lines of her waist. They settled gradually into a more gentle rhythm, tasting and teasing each other as they allowed old memories to surface, his mouth delicious and intoxicating. The rising heat was in delectable contrast to the bitter chill of the night, and she was unable to prevent a trembling sigh as his lips caressed her neck before moving to murmur against her ear.

“Lyn….”

She pulled away to look at him, quietly thrilled by his dilated pupils, the ragged edge to his breathing. “Yes?”

He held her gaze before breaking the spell with an amused shake of his head. “It’s just….not _quite_ the way I thought you’d tell me to pull myself together.”

“I more-or-less tried that, you moron. Sometimes you need something more direct.”

“Well, it was certainly that.”

“Anything else?”

His smile was broad and suggestive. “Perhaps one other small thing. A minor detail, at best.”

“Oh, come now.” She stroked her fingers along his thigh before curling them about his hardening length, grinning as he sucked in a breath. “You do yourself a disservice.”

“Well…,” he managed, groaning as her grip became more purposeful. “How do you propose we rectify that, given the current out-of-bounds nature of your home?”

“Depends how nimble you’re feeling.” She shrugged, releasing him abruptly and standing before holding out a hand. “How do you feel about the summer house?”

He laughed, enclosing her fingers with his and rising to join her. “I feel it’d be the perfect antidote to this pathetic winter’s tale.”

“Good. Come on, then.”

He snagged her waist before she could begin walking, his voice soft against her hair as he sobered. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t mean for offering….”

“ _Obviously_ not.” She stretched on her toes to kiss him. “No more now, Douglas; understood?”

He nodded and she pulled him along in a determined stride towards the wooden hut, stealing a sideways glance at his face in the darkness. _He’ll probably never lay those ghosts to rest_ , she mused as they stepped inside. _But for tonight maybe I can help him to quiet them – what Christmas would be complete without a little distraction?_ Whatever thought was left disappeared as his mouth met hers, warm and tender. Above them, the stars twinkled against a velvet sky as their breaths rose into the cold air, met, united, then disappeared.

FIN


End file.
